Old Ghosts
by Captain Possum
Summary: Two worlds come to an end, and during this time they collide. With it, two people. One with no hope, and one with too much. A Dragon Age: Origins and Dark Souls crossover.
1. Prologue

_It's suffocatingly empty here_, she thought as she sat at the bonfire. Even when she had first arrived at Firelink Shrine there had been at least one face not mad with grief, someone willing to talk to her- What was his name? Had he ever told her? She couldn't remember. Whenever she thought of him he was simply 'the chainmail man', or 'the first', or 'the crestfallen warrior'.

It didn't matter. He was dead and hollowed now, along with everyone else. She racked her brains to try and remember them too- someone had to remember, surely- but couldn't. There was a wizard… no, three wizards? No, two. Logan and Groggs. It was definitely Groggs. Ah, and Rhea. Innocent Rhea, who was sheltered from birth and promised the world only to find it was full of snakes.

She thought of snakes, and thought there was someone else. She took out a beaten, leather bound book and skimmed through the pages. There they were drawn; all of the people she met were named. Yet she could only vividly picture a few. There was someone simply named as 'Tarkus' and despite not remembering his significance now he had obviously made an impression at the time judging by the proud way he stood on the paper, legs apart with a colossal sword hung over the left shoulder.

Solaire was there too, drawn in much more detail than the others because- this memory was vivid- in Anor Londo after falling to Smough's hammer for the hundredth time she had thrown her pack down in frustration and the book had fallen out at Solaire's feet. He took it and- to her embarrassment- read the entire thing. To her surprise however, his only comment was that in her drawing of him the sun on his armour was askew. He then offered to stand up and let her do it properly, because '_My dear friend, the Sun demands proper respect!_' The two of them sat there then, in comfortable silence as her quill scratched away.

Some memories like that one were vivid and painful with hindsight, but other ones, important and not so important were being replaced by black spots, and it worried her. There was only so much loss a person could take before they went hollow.

And how much loss did she need to take? She had done everything right, no? She had rung the bells and braved the fortress and killed the guards and knelt before the princess- the shining princess, so close and yet so far from her reach- and she had took the lord souls and-

The Lord Souls. That was one thing the woman could remember. Four Lord Souls belonged to her, taken by right. These souls would open the way to the Kiln, where she would relieve Gwyn from his duty. That was the purpose that stopped her from going hollow. The only thing that held meaning.

Unsteady feet, clad in steel, made for Frampt.

Frampt was hard to forget. He was pompous with bad breath and was clearly using her, but at that point she was so utterly desperate to hold onto something, _anything_ that wasn't corrupted, she heeded his words without question out of fear he would leave too.

"Chosen Undead, you have returned! And… ah, with the last Lord Soul" He held is head in reverence "The death of the Witch of Izalith lessens us all"

His pity was as empty as Firelink; a half-hearted attempt to keep up appearances because he knew she would not reply. The serpent stared hungrily at the souls clasped at the undead's breast.

"You have completed the final trial. I will take you down to the Lordvessel. Offer the souls to it."

Frampt took the undead to the Kiln, and eagerly watched as she reached for the Lordvessel with trembling hands. This was an end to it, for good or ill. The fate of the undead would be decided, and she could finally die in peace, as a human. After the things she'd done and seen in Lordran, she desired nothing more.

Before she gave the souls to the vessel, she looked to the door. It was a slate grey, with ominous red markings scratched through the middle and branching out. Cracked here and there with age (Age, she wanted to think, certainly not something more ominous), and at least three times taller than herself. It made her think of the door to her cell in the asylum for a moment, and thought this entryway in front of her was a good representation of how the rusted one in the asylum felt to her all that time ago.

Huge, foreboding and unwelcoming. Such a grand door could give one pause.

Nevertheless, the souls went into the basin and shone the same glorious white that graced Anor Londo and sometimes haunted her dreams. It passed to the door, the red cracks brimming with energy as they opened the way. And finally meeting into a ball at the centre and casting the great doors aside.

A grand door indeed, even when open. She looked to the primordial serpent for guidance, for he was the only other soul in the lonely abyss.

"Do not falter. Go, Chosen Undead…" Frampt began to heave his body upwards, to leave the woman to her fate "Go to your destiny."

And now there was one. Uncertainty plagued her every step. She hadn't been able to help any of her other friends, not even a small group of people and apparently she couldn't muster the courtesy to remember them, either. She'd stopped eating months ago, deemed herself unworthy of the luxury because she was worthless, and denied herself other pleasures such as bathing long before that.

Then again, what better way to punish herself than go where she didn't want to? Then to leave the Fair Lady behind forever? The thought of her final goodbye to her mistress as she handed Eingyi the Old Witch's Ring was too much to bear.

With that in mind, she continued into the barren dunes of ash. Although the more she walked, the more something felt wrong. Not because of the growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, but because of her link to her bonfire. It felt muffled. Weakened, somehow, and it was worrying because before no matter how far she walked from the last place she rested at it had never felt as if she was leaving it at all.

But this, this was wrong and made her sick. She couldn't feel her darksign burning in tandem with the fire. No, no, no, she needed to go back. This wouldn't do. She'd worked too hard now and walked too far into the Kiln for it all to go wrong.

Without standing on ceremony the undead span on her heel and began running back to the Lordvessel, to check that it was there, that Frampt hadn't betrayed her, that it was just her frayed mind playing tricks on her.

Breaking into a sprint, she almost fell into it. The basin was there. Alight, as it should be. It didn't make sense. She was standing right in front of the damn thing, yet it felt so _distant_. She touched the fire, to make sure she had definitely made it back and had not been killed along the way and was simply hallucinating in death.

It was there, and yet it wasn't. She felt sick. Where was the fire? It wasn't there. By the All-Father, it was almost transparent.

Hands in the vessel, she didn't even have time to scream as the same white light that opened the path to the Kiln reached out and pulled her in.


	2. 1

"It worked! Hah, Maker it worked!"

The white light that took her in spat her back out in… a cave? She was possibly concussed after being taken in and thrown out again so violently, and so was still trying to focus her vision. The floor was damp to the touch, but to her reassurance her link with the bonfire had established itself again.

Her sight was blurry, but from what she could see there was a man, clad in green robes and grinning with such ferocity she subconsciously backed away.

"Do not be afraid, undead knight. You have been chosen for a great duty." The man lowered to where she knelt, breathing raggedly into her face as her mind tried to realign itself "Oh, don't look so alarmed. You need to do nothing but relax, ser."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she winced. She tried to speak- to ask what was going on and where she was- but months of silence in Lordran had caused her voice to almost wither away. So, she stared at him blankly through her visor and hoped this somehow communicated her confusion.

"I'm grateful that you gathered such power and brought it into one place" He either didn't care for or didn't notice her body language, and continued on "This makes the ritual easier, you see. Easier to cross the veil." His tone was conversational, as if she was an old friend and they were discussing the weather. Although, in a way, it felt as if he wasn't really talking to her at all.

"Your soul has been chosen to fuel the coming flames, and bring salvation to the world. You, good ser, will be the paragon of the coming age."

She didn't know what the 'veil' was, or what his idea of 'salvation' could be. She didn't know whether he wanted to hurt her, or he had the wrong person, or was simply mad. Her gut, though, said that his intentions were not benevolent and their ideas of salvation were entirely different.

She moved slowly as to not raise suspicion as the man rambled on about something she wasn't really listening to, and briefly checked her arsenal to make sure it was all in place and there would be no unpleasant surprises should the meeting turn violent. Zweihander, check. Greatshield, check. Parrying dagger, check. Pyromancy flame… check. The pyromancy flame was the most important to her; it was a beacon physically and emotionally, and held the essence of fellow pyromancers that had been close enough to meld their fires with her own.

She would be lost without her light.

Flame to steady her mind, she had begun to focus again on her surroundings and could see that the mysterious new face had taken part in some sort of ceremony, with blue etched lines in the ground in some kind of undecipherable pattern. Jagged rocks that somehow shone the same brilliant blue as the markings littered the large cavern, and when she discreetly as possible looked behind she could see the… Lordvessel?

"… your vessel is the premature form of something great, something that will make my name the rallying cry for our rebellion…"

No, it was some kind of sick mockery. A badly crafted basin and nothing more. Yet in it sat four distinctive balls of light, the lord souls, _her_ lord souls, and a flame calmly burned within it. She thought for a moment that the man had made this himself and the salvation he spoke of was her reviving the first flame, but why had he moved her from the Kiln?

"… from the chaos, us mages will rise above the oppression of the chantry and rule supreme…"

Was this Darkroot Garden? The cave reminded her of the one near the Valley of Drakes, but she had never seen the glowing blue rocks before. The familiar sound of insects and running water was also absent. It was a blow to her pride to think that she had scoured all of Lordran only to find there was so much she didn't know.

The robed figure had been talking for so long that when he stopped, she immediately noticed the absence. The change in mood was disconcerting, and from that point on the only thing she could focus on in the room was him. He stepped outside the circle the blue markings had made, and after doing so reached for a small table she hadn't seen for some reason.

"Maker be with you, chosen undead. Know that your sacrifice was not in vain."

From the table, he took a black book, and began to recite some kind of rite she didn't understand the words to.

No, she did understand it. Not the words in particular, but the language. The Fair Lady spoke it, words that she could only ever understand if she wore the Old Witch's ring given to her before she was cursed with the darksign. The same ring she had given to Eingyi before she left her lady for what she believed was the final time.

He moved his fingers around in some sort of gesture, manipulating the fire from the basin with his hands, then his torso, then the whole of his body until it contorted and he seemed to be part of the fire itself.

The flames from the mock Lordvessel was beginning to spread and the souls within it were warping, twisting and binding in a way that induced her into a frenzied panic. Her bond with the bonfire was much too strong to be normal now, and felt as if it was pulling her in, forcing her to look.

The man continued to speak in the witch's language, his words increasingly frenzied and breathing erratic like the fires that continued to spread.

He laughed as he read the rite, cackles bubbling out between breaths and making her desperately look for the exit. She couldn't see one; the flames were blocking the way. The more he went on, the more an unnatural heat spread through her bones until it felt like she was fighting Quelaag again. White hot pain.

Just when her vision blurred for the final time, and she was about to pass out from the heat-

An arrow sailed through the air and promptly struck the mage in the shoulder. He cried in pain, ripped the thing out and turned to see a group of at least six or seven people fully armed and glaring at him.

"Looks like we're interrupting something, huh?" A blonde, heavy built young man wearing steel chainmail lopsidedly grinned to a short red-headed female beside him with… pointed ears? She would have taken more marvel in that had she not been half-conscious.

"Not now, Alistair. Positions!"

As the mage ignored his ritual and began to conjure up some kind of icy aura, the small group that had appeared out of nowhere split up just as quickly as they had appeared and surrounded the green-robed man from all directions.

One- a bronze giant wielding a sword only slightly smaller than her own- charged in from the left shouting a language she couldn't understand aimed his blade for his adversary's head. Unfortunately said adversary dodged and the giant received a face full of ice for the folly. However, he barely seemed to flinch from the damage and swung again, this time striking the other man's already injured shoulder and knocking him to the ground. The mage blasted him from point blank range, doing visible damage and causing a chunk of the warrior's armour to fly off and lodge itself in the ground.

She tried to stand up, perhaps even try to help, but the draining effect from whatever the mage had done was making her feel ill and when she tried to push herself upright she fell back down again, the overwhelming urge to collapse destroying her balance. Nobody in the room seemed to notice she was there, however.

The fight continued around her, the girl with the pointy ears drawing his attention with ridiculous taunts and repeated striking of her shield. Even in her compromised mental state she could see the redhead was purposely trying to antagonise the mage, but he was so agitated it worked exactly as planned. He aimed for the person taunting him, a brilliant orange light forming in the palm of his hand. He aimed, the redhead raised her shield, his arm arched…

Then in a flash of purple and white, he crumpled to the ground. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

Over his body a beautiful raven haired sorceress stood, surrounded by an air of cold indifference that made her all the more alluring. The pyromancer on the ground would have gazed at the sight more had the relief of seeing the mage die not purged her of the adrenaline that was keeping her awake.

A lithe, tanned fellow she hadn't seen before- another person with pointed ears! - was the first to notice her, elbowing a different redhead holding a bow next to him and pointing. The redhead shouted something, the entire group turned abruptly to see the spectacle and the last thing she saw was the blonde warrior and the bow-wielder running to where she collapsed.

…

"… I say she is dead. Let her be."

"What? Did your mother teach you that if someone was breathing but unconscious they were dead by default? No, wait. Don't answer that."

"Will you two go somewhere else and let the adults sort this out? I have no idea what that mage was doing to her."

"T'was a magical sacrament of some sort, obviously. And this woman was to be the sacrifice. I have no idea as to what those orbs of light in the basin are for, however"

She didn't open her eyes at first, listening carefully to determine whether the people around her were friendly or not.

"Oh, this poor woman… do we have any more poultices?" There was a strange accent she had never heard before, but found strangely soothing. After was some kind of rummaging, then a command from the voice that belonged to the giant she'd seen before ordering the rummaging to stop, that the 'bas' wasn't worth their curatives and she should get up on her own.

Another few agonising minutes passed, with one of the unnamed fighters poking her in the face and then apparently leaving to go loot the dead mage's body.

The others gradually left one by one, leaving her alone with some panting creature with breath to rival Frampt and someone else who muttered to himself about always being left with the bodies. It had been some time now and none of the people seemed malicious towards her, so she gradually opened her eyes to uncomfortably prop herself on one arm. The owner of the bad breath was a dog, and the other presence belonged to the same man who had been the first to notice her. He blinked- as if he'd expected her never to wake up- then gestured the entirety of the rest of the group to come and see.

"Ah, she awakens! Do not be alarmed, my lady." His accent was also strange, but felt a lot harsher to the ears than the unfamiliar one before "I am Zevran, and _you_ are very lucky to be alive." He smiled at her, and it could only be described as roguish.

She felt for her sword by default, and was alarmed to see the blonde warrior trying to swing it above his head. He swivelled to look at her bewildered expression, slowly put her blade down and tried to look as guilty as possible "Oh, um, sorry… Just looking."

He walked over to her, kneeling as much as his heavy armour would allow "Are you okay, ser? I didn't think you were going to open your eyes for a moment there." The guilty expression was lost from his face and replaced with genuine concern. It scared her. She had never seen sane undead travel around in such large groups, and she hadn't seen such sincere concern for her wellbeing in a long time.

"Hey, hey! Stop crowding the poor bastard!" The pointy-eared girl pushed Zevran aside, and ruffled fur of the dog that panted next to her. At this point everybody had gathered round and waited- some with barely suppressed eagerness- for her to say something.

"Good to see you up. Do you… want to introduce yourself?" The woman stared at her, waiting expectantly for a response. When she received nothing, she tried again "You're all there, aren't you?" Silence. "Well, I'm Taeneth… We were here because refugees had been reporting disturbances from this very cave. Convenient for you we came, eh?" Taeneth smiled uneasily when the woman in front of her continued to stare blankly.

"Give her a chance to think. You would be bewildered in her position, no?" The woman with the soothing accent spoke up next, offering a sympathetic glance "Take your time. We did not mean to startle you."

The beautiful mage with the black hair huffed at the rescuee's lack of response, stating that she was clearly lyrium addled before skulking off.

"I…" The pyromancer finally spoke, but her own voice sounded cracked and foreign to her ears and her throat was alight with pain. She had no use for her voice before as there was next to nobody to talk to. Now there were so many and she didn't know where to start "I… Ah…"

The group, much to her irritation, continued to wait with bated breath as she struggled to produce words. The more she tried however, the more the thin, ginger woman with the lovely voice seemed to be moved.

"Would you like a poultice? Your throat sounds terrible..." The woman, against the giant's obvious wishes, offered a small red vial to her. At first she was hesitant and looked for reassurance, but when she eventually sipped it the effect was almost immediate. A smooth, warm feeling spread down her neck and into her stomach. It was like estus, but without the harsh burning sensation.

She tried again, then took another sip when it failed, and tried once more. After a brief period of this routine she finally found her voice. It cracked again, the tanned man leaned forwards, and the right sound finally came out;

"Rowan"

Rowan. Her name was Rowan.

Her first proper word in months was not as climatic as she had hoped it to be. The group looked to and from one another, Zevran shrugged and the giant-whatever curiosity he had satisfied- walked away.

Taeneth on the other hand, seemed elated "Rowan! Great!" She rubbed her hand on the back of her neck "So… what exactly are you doing here? Did that mage just pull you off the road, or what? Any idea what he was planning?" Apparently in Taeneth's mind, since Rowan could speak one word she could now answer all the questions she'd been saving up.

"What part of Lordran is this? And why are your ears-"

Zevran flinched at the word 'ears' before backing off from Taeneth as if she was about to explode. She balled her fist slightly; the whiplash in mood was terrifying.

"What, pointed? You got a problem with me being an elf?" She completely had forgot about the questions she had asked before, and muttered something about finding Morrigan- Rowan had no idea who Morrigan was- before storming off, the dog following nonchalantly. After he made sure she was well out of earshot the blonde warrior took his turn to speak:

"Sorry. She's a little bit touchy about being an elf… or well, everything actually. Don't mind her. I'm Alistair, by the way, good to meet you. If you don't mind me asking, what _did_ happen here?"

She was so utterly overwhelmed the word 'elf' had gone right over her head.

Alistair, the bow wielder and Zevran- who had been awfully quiet and she noticed slightly pushed out of the circle compared to everyone else- were the only ones left. It felt easier to speak now, as these three people also seemed to be the friendliest.

"It may have been about the Lord Souls, I don't know. I went to the Kiln of the first flame, believe it or not-" she took a break to cough "Gwyn's tomb, I mean, but when I went back to the Lordvessel it pulled me in and I came out here. That man you killed was probably mad."

The three of them looked confused, brows knotted and arms crossed.

"Gwyn?" Zevran stared at her levelly.

"Lord… Gwyn. Lord of Fire. Related to All-Father Lloyd." When they continued to look at her blankly, she panicked "Where… where in Lordran is this? What year is it? Where-" She stood up and ignored the rush of blood, to make a dash for her belongings. Something was wrong. Everyone should know who All-Father Lloyd was unless whatever the mage had done had taken her to somewhere entirely removed from Lordran… Carim? They worshipped different Gods, didn't they?

Alistair chased after her "Hey! Hey, calm down! You're in Ferelden, just North of Lothering. The village that was destroyed by darkspawn. Do you know Lothering?"

Lothering… Lothering? She didn't consider herself a worldly person, but the way he phrased the question made it sound as if even a child would know where Lothering should be.

"No! No, I… I don't know what you're talking about. Not Lothering, not Darkspawn…"

Alistair had frozen, mouth slightly agape. Zevran continued to stare, and the cogs turning in his head were almost visible.

For a brief moment, watching the two of them judge from above, she wished something drastic would happen. The mage would get back up, or Solaire would pop up from the ground in that ridiculous outstretched pose he adored so much. She had never missed him so much before.

Zevran turned to Alistair "No need to look so alarmed, dear Warden. The last Blight was centuries ago, yes? Many people thought they were extinct. Where exactly do you come from, Rowan?"

Alistair looked as if he wanted to interject, but she answered quickly "I'm from the Great Swamp, home of the pyromancers. I haven't been there in a…" She massaged her throat to coax the words out "…long time, though."

Zevran nodded, said he was going to speak to Taeneth about something, and sauntered off. The woman with the bow had left some time ago and she simply hadn't noticed. Alistair stayed in front of her and continued to glance at her sword and shield every once in a while, most likely wondering how anyone could pick up weapons that size and use them both at the same time. She didn't notice, though, as her eyes were on Zevran, Taeneth and the sorceress who stood in a small half circle and talked- with no effort towards secrecy- about the mysterious woman who didn't know anything about Darkspawn.

One of them would glance back every now and again, only to be elbowed by someone else so they could resume what she guessed was gossiping. Did they think because she was quiet and strange it was all right to talk about her so obviously? The thought irked her more than it should have.

This offensive display continued until eventually they came to come sort of verdict and surrounded her again. Taeneth spoke first;

"Can you tell me anything you know about all this?" She seemed to have calmed down from her previous outburst but asked the question with such bluntness Rowan was left with the impression of someone who could hold a grudge for years, even though she had known the woman for less than half a day. Rowan, however, was frustrated with being asked the same damn questions repeatedly as if she was an invalid.

"I don't know much. Those souls in the basin are mine, however. Don't touch them."

"Souls?" Someone in the background whispered 'necromancer' and Taeneth promptly told them to shut up, "So that mage picked your specifically because of your… erm, souls?"

"Maybe. I put them into the Lordvessel, but he brought them here somehow. With me."

Some in the crowd looked sceptical, others looked amazed. The sorceress and the giant (who had returned without a sound), notably, looked indifferent.

"Lordvessel? What in the Maker's name is that?" Alistair piped in.

"A vessel. For Lord Souls."

Taeneth laughed. Rowan failed to see what was funny.

"You don't say… Look, call me crazy but I think you might've come from somewhere completely different to Ferelden. Do you know anything about the Grey Wardens?"

"No. I don't even think I'm in Lordran anymore. I… I don't know what to do now."

The bow-woman cooed and seemed to look perpetually concerned for Rowan, but it was beginning to rub her the wrong way. Perhaps she was just tired. Someone showing concern for her was usually counted as a blessing.

"Well, I think you should come with us. If you're actually any good with that sword and shield, of course" Taeneth smiled a little, offering a hand "If you're not pulling my leg by the way, I'm an elf. Good, proud people, us elves."

The disapproval from some of the group was all too apparent, however "Another stray, Warden? Surely Alistair satisfies your need to pick up cast-offs?" The sorceress gave a wry smile towards Alistair, who glared, but said nothing.

"I agree with the the bas saarebas. We know nothing of this woman."

"We didn't know anything about you either. And at least she didn't murder a whole family like _someone_ we know, eh?" Taeneth kept her hand out, encouraging Rowan to take it. Was this a good idea? Going with these people she didn't know? But if she really wasn't in Lordran…

These people could give her purpose; halt the inevitable process of going hollow. She ignored the bitter feeling of working so hard to get to the Kiln only to have it taken from her, and took the elf's hand.

"You have my sword. Thank you."

The less approving members of the misfits stalked off ahead but the bow-user with the kind voice, Alistair, Taeneth and the dog fell into step with Rowan, occasionally looking over to see if she was functioning well after the ordeal. Zevran sauntered behind, occasionally giving input but intentionally being kept out of the line by Alistair specifically.

She considered mentioning the fact she was undead to her new companions since they seemed to be from an entirely different world to her own, judging by the appearance of elves, but held her tongue. Despite the slightly condescending nature of some of them, this group of about six were the closest things she had had to friends in a painful amount of time.

They reached the outside; she cradled the lord souls to her chest and marvelled at the beauty of the world. It felt much like the time she had escaped the Undead Asylum, a feeling of helplessness at the vastness of the universe but a willingness to explore it all simply because she was happy to be alive again.

Taeneth spoke up "Might as well give you the plan, Rowan. We're going to Denerim- the capital, just so you know- to get supplies and see just how bad Loghain's vendetta against the Wardens is"

"She probably doesn't know about any of that…"

"Oh! Right. The short story is that we fought a huge battle against the Darkspawn… Um, the Darkspawn being the reasons Wardens exist, because we fight them for a living and… A man called Loghain is regent of Ferelden, he was meant to come when me and Alistair lit the beacon but-"

Alistair interrupted, the friendly expression that usually graced his features all but gone "He didn't come. He let all of the Wardens and his King die, and then blamed us for it. Now we're counted as criminals." Alistair's tone betrayed a deep emotional scar that Rowan knew only too well. Loss. She didn't pry, but nodded understandingly and turned back to Taeneth and the bow-wielder (who had been awfully quiet during the walk thus far).

"Alistair got it in one. I'll explain more along the way, we need to cover ground before nightfall."

As the group pressed on ahead, she admitted only to herself she wasn't sure what would happen after this. After consideration of her own failings it almost felt like a second chance.

She wasn't sure if she deserved one.


	3. 2

The walk to Denerim was an uneventful, slightly uncomfortable one so far. The party were competent enough in battle but outside of it there seemed to be a persistent awkwardness about them as if they were all afraid of talking to each other. Induced by choice, she noted with the sorceress and the giant, but the others strangely seemed much more willing to chat yet didn't.

Apart from one.

"Oh, you're going to love Denerim. It is the heart of Ferelden, so much character, lovely people… and the _shops_! Rowan, have you ever gone shopping? Mind my manners, but you don't look like you go shopping much. We took your helmet off while you were unconscious- sorry- and you have such lovely green eyes. We should get you a necklace to match! I don't think it should be delicate though, that wouldn't suit your knight-like look…"

Rowan had found out that the bow-wielder was called Leliana, and she was from a place called Orlais. She'd obviously never met any other Orlesians before so she couldn't tell if they were all like Leliana, but by the flames did she like the sound of her own voice. She talked about cities, fashion, some Maker that she had dedicated her life to… Even when Rowan was obviously not listening, she continued to speak.

"… Maker, forgive my rambling. You are almost as quiet as Sten! Tell me about yourself. What is your land like?"

She had no idea how to answer that. She didn't want to tell the truth; that her land was dying, a hopeless husk in its last throes that she had been left to fix, but she didn't have enough time to come up with a convincing lie. There was so much she could have told this woman, yet she didn't want to tell any of it.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry, was that a bad question?" Rowan must have accidentally conveyed her turmoil, and Lelianna took it as offence. Then again, maybe she was offended. Maybe she felt that the group's indifferent attitude towards someone who had fallen out of a basin from another land irritated her ever so slightly. While she had no urgent desire to go back to the empty spaces of Lordran, it was the idea they saw her as just another soldier willing to tag along them and not a person who had their own agenda that had already began to drive her mad.

"No, forgive me. My land is very peaceful."

Leliana continued to stare, clearly expecting more, but when she received nothing she bit her lip and fell quiet. Rowan felt guilty for a moment; she looked hurt and for a moment as if she was somewhere else, but the expression passed in a split second and she just as quickly focused her attention on Taeneth (who seemed to be even less receptive to Leliana's blabbering than she was).

Taeneth herself was a bit of a mystery. She was friendly enough- smiled when spoken to, gave orders, listened well- but her eyes were always glazed over to the point it seemed that the Darkspawn she so nonchalantly described were not her main concern at all. Rowan hadn't learnt a lot about her thus far; she was one of two remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, who according to her were the only ones who could stop the 'Blight' that the creatures called 'Darkspawn' caused (She didn't really understand where these creatures came from or why the Grey Wardens were crucial to stopping them, but apparently neither did Taeneth).

That was it. She was constantly in her own private riot and her only other equal was Alistair, who frankly seemed like a bit of an idiot. A strong, compassionate idiot, but an idiot nevertheless. In that respect he reminded her of Solaire and so she avoided speaking to him whenever possible to lessen the dull ache that reminded her she may never see one of her only friends again.

She tried to remember the colour of the sun on his armour, but her sketch of him was black and white and the spot in the back of her mind was spreading. They reached Denerim at nightfall and she hadn't said a word.

She didn't really feel like listening either when Taeneth spoke about hiring bed and board, or where to find cheap bed and board, or Zevran saying he know a _lovely_ little place where the service was just _fantastic_. Alistair dryly commented that the lovely place probably involved assassins and-

"_I see that look! _You want us to go to the whorehouse, don't you? They did something a little different to beds the last time I checked"

"Wh-Whorehouse?" Alistair turned to his fellow Warden and frowned hopelessly.

"Oh! Look at him squirm. I believe this is the first sound plan our assassin friend has had since he joined us!" The sorceress offered a wry smile.

"Stop teasing him, Morrigan"

"Coming here was unnecessary. We should have left straight to find the ashes."

Rowan zoned out again, and only noticed now that she was shaking. She'd begun to see them. There were people here. Too many. Even though the only stares they received were mostly directed at Sten and his size she felt as if they were staring at _her_, deciding how long it would take them to run to the parish and fetch the clerics that would-

But from the conversations and death threats she had heard so far, to die here was considered permanent and there was no such thing as an undead. Part of Rowan- a small, dark part- wanted to kill herself just to see if the Darksign was absent here and she was free of it too, but she knew better than to be hopeful. The mock Lordvessel the party had abandoned back in that cave still seemed to be burning when they left despite the Lord Souls no longer being in it, and the sensation of the Darksign's brand hadn't gone away. She hadn't mentioned the still burning flame to the others, though. More out of forgetfulness then and a crushing sense of dread now.

Perhaps this land was just one uncharted, far away from Lordran or the Great Swamp or Astora and the curse hadn't ravaged them yet? If so, she was unwilling to break that peace before their lives were tainted like hers and so she left them to argue about petty things like lodging and who was going to cook and Rowan _wished_ she could join in but it had been so long since she had worried about things such as that it felt as if she had forgotten how an ordinary life worked.

"Look Alistair, it's not as if we're forcing you to sleep with anyone there!"

"Well, yes, but… Hey, what about Rowan? Back me up here, you don't fancy sleeping on beds where they do Maker-knows-what, right? Right?" Alistair's desperate call for back of snapped the woman from her thinking and she stared hopelessly from under her visor at the faces that were waiting for her answer.

"… I don't mind. Wherever."

She focused on the stalls in the middle of the city, empty now in the twilight but for some reason still buzzing with activity. There were taverns and little houses filled with so many people she could see some of them sitting to dinner, a couple speaking with heated words and an old woman sitting alone and she _knew_ they were there but they still seemed distant wrapped up in their own worlds, like ghosts.

Taeneth shrugged, said that Rowan clearly thought her fellow Warden was overreacting and began to direct the party towards the alleys. The look of unease on Alistair's face however, was a little uncomfortable.

"Ooh, betrayal! It's always the quiet ones. If find your sheets are… well, _sticky_… just don't say I never tried to save you, all right?" He smiled at her then, and even if he couldn't see it she smiled back. The sense of humour was slightly different, but the radiating warmness of personality was there. Solaire, through and through. She wished he wasn't.

They marched through the musky backstreets that apparently would lead them to their destination and Rowan couldn't help but make the mundane observation that the back streets were surprisingly not much worse off than the market square in terms of filth. Denerim was a city with nothing to hide, it seemed, which could not be said for the cities in Astora. She kicked aside a box and realised that after being ruthlessly deceived for so long seeing something so dirty and honest felt liberating.

Alistair watched her stare with a strange intensity at the box she had kicked aside and considered for the first time that if she truly was from an unfamiliar land, she was most likely still in a fragile state of mind "That… you know I was joking, right? I just can't tell if you're laughing or plotting to kill me with that huge helmet on. I'm sure the beds are fine-"

"I was smiling. The beds won't bother me."

"Well… good! Do you have a lot of beds, where you come from?"

Rowan marvelled at the inane nature of the question "No. Don't need them." She realised now that she'd lacked social interaction for so long she's forgotten how it worked. Three word answers were most likely not accepted judging by the look on his face.

"Oh, would you look at that? We're at The Pearl!" He muttered "Fantastic…"

He walked on ahead and left Rowan to trail behind with the giant; who seemed to outclass even her in terms of quietness. He would give her furtive glances every now and again with no care as to whether she could see them, but had not said a word. He was doing it now as they walked through the door and Zevran went to greet a particularly voluptuous brunette.

She could hazard a guess at his type, and the woman tried her best to ignore him. It gave her a better idea of Taeneth and her motivations for so easily taking her along at least; she took on anyone regardless of motivation if they looked like they could wield a sword.

"My darling Sanga has agreed to let us lodge here for the night. No need to thank me." Zevran brought both his hands up in a gesture of nonchalance. Leliana nodded politely and went ahead.

"I was not planning on it, trust me" Morrigan, of course, was unimpressed and eyed a group of whores sitting round a table with disdain.

Taeneth seemed to be focused on something else entirely. Noticeably, Rowan. "Hey, once we're settled down I need to speak to you. That okay?"

She sensed the question was rhetorical, and Taeneth would talk to her regardless.

Rowan found the nearest room, threw her greatsheild against the wall, apologised to the scantily clothed woman who almost received said greatsheild to the face, and realised she hadn't seen a proper bed since her in depth exploration Anor Londo. She hadn't slept in one since she was taken from the Great Swamp.

She took her armour off with uneasy hands, expecting a hollow to step from the shadows in her vulnerability despite how ludicrous she knew it sounded in her head. It had been slightly after her battle with the Knight Artorias and before the battle with Manus her transition to Black Iron Tarkus' Set had taken place and admittedly the security of such heavy plate was more than physical. She stood wearing only the greaves and a shirt before she realised she wanted to put it all back on again. Pathetic.

"All right, I'm not going to dance around this. Tell me what you were doing in that cave, how you got there, where you came from, and what you intend to do now." Taeneth had entered without her knowing, shoulder length red hair let down past a dirty tunic. While her eyes were not unkind, they were suspicious.

At least Rowan had been wrong about none of the party caring. Would there be any point in lying? Would this elf be able to tell?

"I mentioned before; the Great Swamp. I was in Lordran before I ended up-"

"Yes, but where is that? Highever? Te-" She stumbled over the words and furrowed her brows, and Rowan realised she didn't seem to know the name of the land she had in mind "The place with the mages!"

"No, it's… I don't know. I was on a quest to… Why does it matter?"

"You mention a God nobody knows, wearing armour made of metal nobody recognises and that's not even mentioning we found you next to a magic _bowl_. Give me a little slack for being worried." Taeneth paced back and forth, looked as if she wanted to sit down but decided against it.

"Why did you let me come, then?"

"How could I not? You looked so damn confused! I'm not calling you a fake- I really believe in crazy stuff like people falling out of bowls- but you've got to give me a bit of backstory. I didn't want to bring it up in front of everyone else because maybe it's embarrassing for you, I don't know"

The room fell silent for a moment as heavy footsteps lumbered past, stopped, and continued to walk on. Taeneth seemed less angry at her and more frustrated at the fact there was so much she didn't understand, and with an exaggerated sigh finally decided on sitting down. Her ears pricked a little at a gust of air before her gaze for the first time truly seemed to focus on something. Rowan.

"I grew up in an alienage, so I'm a little suspicious of shems. Forget the rest and tell me where you stand: Will you fight the Darkspawn until the last of those bastards are dead, or if you find some way back to your Lordran, are you going to take it?"

Rowan had only considered it in passing. There was certainly not much for her back in the land of the dead. Most, if not all of her friends had hollowed or gone mad, Anor Londo lay in darkness after its last remaining deity had been killed and despite the cruel deception Frampt had been more than willing to let her light the first flame and burn alone. She could think of no valid reason to want to go back, yet it still felt like some form of betrayal.

"I don't know. I… truly don't know."

She watched the Warden shift tirelessly on the bed. She would stand up part way only to sit back down again "You need to think about what you want to do? I get that" As quickly as it focused, Taeneth's gaze continued to look at nothing "At least you get that choice... We're heading out to the main city to look for one 'Brother Genitivi' tomorrow. Up at dawn without fail, okay?" With another sigh, she left in the same rush that she had entered with.

Rowan thought it strange that the elf would come in and demand answers, receiving none and still being satisfied enough to leave but Rowan got the impression that she was not the only one soul searching. Perhaps Taeneth had not expected answers at all. Perhaps even if she had them the girl would not have listened.

With the memory of the Warden's restless eyes burned into her skull Rowan laid down to sleep, only to get none at all.


End file.
